


Better Homes (and, eventually, gardens)

by andimeantittosting (Saylee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curtain Fic, Future Fic, Human Castiel, M/M, No Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, they build a house. Future fic, in which things are good, and then they get better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Homes (and, eventually, gardens)

After everything, they build a house.

The Darkness has been beaten back, Lucifer defeated for once and for all, and God roundly chewed out for letting all this crap happen in the first place. The world is saved, and they are out. Mostly out, at any rate. They've got a bunker full of lore, after all, and permission to man the phones for any hunters out in the field, but other than that, they're done. According to the deal they worked out with Death (not as dead as they had thought, leaving Dean with an unsettling feeling of relief) and Billie (much more reasonable once she found out that Death was still alive), they were to stay away from hunting so much as an angry spirit. In exchange, nothing would come near them. It was in the best interests of the world, the ancient horseman had decreed, that the Winchesters be kept far, far away from the supernatural.

In the months since the Darkness was defeated, they've mostly been puttering around the bunker, Sam, Dean, and Cas, human again, this time for good, quiet, careful with each other. Banding together to rescue Cas from Lucifer and save the world went a ways towards repairing their fraying ties, but they're all still healing, fragile. At first, they exist in their own separate spheres, meeting only briefly when Dean brings Cas a plate of home cooked food with a cautious smile, or Cas brings Sam an interesting book he found in the archives, until Sam starts making noises about moving out.

Dean holes himself away for a week when he hears that, hunched over his laptop and a roll of brown paper, brow furrowed in concentration, only to emerge at the end of it with a sheaf of papers under one arm and determination squaring his jaw.

"This plan of yours, to get an apartment, it's stupid," he announces, entering the library, where Sam is sipping a coffee and perusing Craigslist. He swings a chair around to sit backwards on it, arms crossed over the top and chin propped on his hands.

Sam glances up from his book to fix him with a look that isn't quite a frown. "Dean," he sighs.

"No, no, hear me out. Look, I get that if we're going to stay in Lebanon, living in a secret bunker is gonna start to look weird. Take a look at these." Dean hands over the stack of papers. Sam takes them gingerly and flips through them. They're house plans, he realizes. When he looks up again, Dean is grinning in a way that Sam hasn't seen in years.

Dean is still talking. "I mean, I'd have to adapt these, to make an entrance to the bunker - I'm thinking a secret door - awesome, right? But why pay rent on some shithole of an apartment, when we've already got land right here? Plus, you need references and shit for an apartment." Dean continues to rattle off reasons for why his plan is clearly superior, as Sam sits, swept along by his brother's enthusiasm, unable to do much more than nod.

"And, uh," Dean finishes, gruffly, "I know we need space, so I looked for plans for duplexes and what have you." Sam glances at the papers again, and many of them are indeed for duplexes, houses with in-law suites, even a mirrored twin pair of houses. "I'm pretty easy, so I thought you could, y'know, pick the one you like best, and I could figure out the rest from there. We could even build a little farther apart. Your call."

Sam is still slightly stunned, but he gathers himself enough to nod. "That's - that's great, Dean. That's - Thank you. Give me a bit of time, and I'll pick something." His brother is practically beaming, but then a thought occurs to Sam. "Dean, these plans are all for only two houses. What about Cas?"

Dean frowns. "I kind of assumed he'd live with me." Sam raises a significant eyebrow, and Dean makes a face at him. "What's that look for? You think he doesn't want to?" Footsteps sound in the hall. "Hey, Cas!" he shouts, and the former angel sticks a startled head into the library.

"Yes, Dean?" he inquires.

Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "You'd be okay living with me, right?" Cas raises an eyebrow, ages from his old perplexed head-tilt. "I do live with you, Dean." The snarky little shit.

Dean's face feels too hot, but he manages to clarify, "I meant in a house, Cas. If I built us a house."

"Oh," Cas replies, as if it's obvious. "Then, yes, of course, Dean."

"Of course," Dean mutters, but he's smiling again.

\----

Things change after that. Somehow, the three of them find themselves back in each others orbits. It's different, now, easier. If nothing else, Dean has regained his terrible sense of humor.

"Hey, Cas," he says, when Cas enters the library where he has been working on adapting the house plans, "You know what this makes us? House Hunters."

Cas smiles at the joke, partially because he does enjoy the wordplay, and partially out of pleasure at Dean's playful mood. The simmering rage of the Mark of Cain had been replaced all too swiftly by the shame and fear of his connection with Amara, and the guilt he felt at Cas's own choices. It was only in the last few months, since they had settled into their new lives, that Dean had begun to seem lighter again, to walk taller, and Cas had watched the change eagerly, because even without his grace, Dean, unburdened, shone like the sun.

So he smiles at Dean's joke, as he pulls out the compendium of plants and their magical and medical uses to which he has been adding his own notes and corrections, and offers up one of his own ("We will have to perform an exorcism on the new house. We wouldn't want it to be repossessed."), courtesy of Claire, who, when he had asked her for jokes Dean might enjoy, had sent him a link to a list, enigmatically titled "Dad jokes." He hopes it is a sign that she is happy with his place in her life.

Dean laughs at Cas's joke, but Sam just snorts and declares the two of them as bad as each other. Cas doesn't consider this such a bad thing to be and tells Dean so. Dean turns pink and ducks his head back over his work with a gruff, "Thanks, man." Sam shakes his head at the two of them.

\----

So, they build a house.

Rather, they build two houses. Sam ends up picking a cabin-style bungalow, and Dean and Cas settle on a similar style, but with a second story.

Charlie gets them the permits they need, sends them to them from the road, and promises to visit when she's done her quest to visit every comic convention in the continental United States. ("I was dead. I hacked my way out of heaven. I've freaking earned this.")

Sam's secret passage is going to open into the front of the bunker, and Dean and Cas's into the garage, where Dean has spent the last few days treating the Impala and the Continental to his special brand of TLC, and giving Cas much needed lessons in vehicular maintenance. Of course, it's neither of their cars that the pair take into town to buy the first of the supplies they need. Instead they take Sam's latest, a beat-up truck.

"Where does he find these things?" Dean grouses to Cas as they pull out of the parking lot, laden down with building supplies, but he's smiling, light, eyes crinkling as he turns up the music and drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time. He glances at Cas out of the corner of his eye, and the little upturn at the corner of his friend's mouth has a bubble of warmth rising in his chest. They are going to make it, he realizes, and that thought is what buoys him until Castiel grabs his shoulder.

"Dean, stop. Look over there."

\----

They come back hauling an old trailer. The sides are an eye-searing turquoise, and sunny yellow curtains flutter in its open windows. Sam has emerged from the bunker to help unload, and the face he makes is incredulous as he takes in the sight.

"Dudes. What the hell?" he demands, though the words are clearly directed more at Dean.

"Isn't it great, Sam?" Cas's eyes are bright, and Dean smirks. Sam might have words for him, but surely even his giant little brother would hesitate to shit on the ex-angel's enthusiasm.

"Uh," is all Sam manages, before Dean takes pity on him and steps in to explain.

"Look, it's gotta look like we're staying somewhere while we're building. And we're obviously not living in town. So we park the trailer here and it looks like there's someone there."

"Huh," Sam says. "That's actually pretty smart."

"Right? All Cas's idea." Dean claps him on the shoulder. "Good thinking, buddy."

Sam is still eyeing the trailer with distrust. "We don't actually have to live in there, do we?" Only Dean hears his muttered words. "I don't think I'd fit."

\----

Of course, Cas chooses to move into the trailer anyway.

"I like waking up to the sunlight," he informs Dean, as he helps him carry the belongings he has claimed as his own - his clothes, a set of nature postcards he has carefully framed, the smooth cotton sheets and thick foam pillow he favours. There is a small fan in the window above the bed. The thin mattress admittedly leaves something to be desired, but otherwise, Castiel is pleased by his small domain, and the bed is only temporary until the house is built. They install a coffeemaker so that he doesn't have to shuffle his way into the bunker just to get his early morning caffeine fix, though he usually does wander in wrapped in a robe partway through his second cup of coffee for a plate of Dean's eggs and the superior water pressure of the bunker's showers.

Today, they are planning on pouring the foundation of Sam's house, and Dean is experimenting with eggs Benedict. Over the past days, they've dug the foundation by hand - Dean had declared it a piece of cake after a lifetime of digging up graves - and built the form work that's going to serve as a frame for the concrete. They are saving the secret passage until the end. Dean's already scarfed down his first plate, and is working on a second, while watching Cas eat his with evident pleasure.

"Dean, this is delicious," Cas praises. "Sam, you really should try some." Sam has opted for plain poached eggs and a fruit salad, and waves off the Hollandaise sauce that Dean had got perfect on the first try, if he does say so himself.

"You're missing out, man," he says around a mouthful. "But that leaves more for me'n Cas." He offers Cas another helping, beaming as Cas helps himself. "See, I'm a fantastic cook." He winks at Cas and gets an awkward wink in return.

On the other side of the table, Sam rolls his eyes. "Anyway, I'm not going to be able to help out today. I've got a lead on a job in town."

That makes Dean freeze. "Uh?" he asks, "Thought we weren't supposed to be taking jobs? Orders from the big man and all that."

Cas is frowning, too. "I really do think we should obey Death on this one, Sam."

Sam chews and swallows. "A real job. With a paycheck and everything. I have an interview at the library. It'd be nice to have a real income."

Dean looks as if the concept of paid employment has never occurred to him, while Cas's brow furrows. Dean glances over at him in concern. "What's up, man?"

Cas chews on his lip, as Dean stares rather fixedly at the motion. "An income. Is that - should I - I could apply at the Gas 'n' Sip. I have experience."

"Dude, no." Dean shakes his head. Before Cas can remind Dean that being a sales associate is not beneath him, thank you very much, he rushes on,"I mean, uh, maybe after the house is done, sure, if you want. But there's no need. Anyway, I need your help on the house, especially if Sam is gonna be faffing around with books all day. Besides, it'd be boring to have to do it alone."

"If you're sure," Cas replies, and now both of them are smiling at each other like idiots, and Sam clears his throat.

"So yeah," he says, pushing his chair back from the table. "I'm just going to go get ready for my interview, then."

"Dude, yeah." Dean grins, intercepting him before he can clear his plate. "I'll take care of that. Good luck, Sammy."

\----

The frame goes up. Cas is surprisingly good with the wood, and Dean just barely refrains from making a dirty joke when Cas responds to the compliment with, "I do feel like I have an affinity for it." It's late May, and the sun's been out almost every day, and Cas's skin is taking on a warm golden tinge. Dean's been slathering himself in sunscreen to keep his freckles from breaking out, but even so he is starting to develop a tan, too.

After the frame, they move on to filling in the walls with bales of straw. Dean had been skeptical when Sam had sprung for an eco-friendly design - the words, "What is this hippie crap?" had been used - but then Cas had jumped on the bandwagon of alternative building materials, and Dean had found himself swept along, and actually researching the best techniques for straw bale construction.

He and Cas are doing the work themselves. With the help of a falsified resume, Sam had got the circulation job at the library. Even when he's not working, he's excused himself from their construction project on the grounds that, as the breadwinner, he is already doing enough for their little family. Dean gives him a hard time about it, but he doesn't mind, really. He likes working with his hands, creating something. It feels different from the construction work he did while he was living with Lisa. It may be that this is his project from start to finish. It may be that he is building a home for his family. Or it may be the ex-angel working beside him, the way they fall into sync with each other, the rhythm easy like they've been doing this together forever.

Dean knows exactly what the warmth in his chest means when he looks at his best friend.

"Thanks for doing this with me," he says as he cracks open a beer after a long afternoon of working. He passes that one to Cas and opens another for himself, taking a long swallow.

"Thank you for letting me," Cas says, and they stand there together, shoulders pressing against each other as they drink their beers in comfortable silence.

\----

The secret tunnel isn't built yet, but they've connected Sam's plumbing and electricity to the bunker's systems, and the house is all but finished. Dean insists that Sam help with the painting, and the three of them make a trip to the hardware store to choose paint and supplies. Cas wanders off while Sam is diligently perusing paint chips, and getting increasingly annoyed with Dean's commentary on his colour choices.

"Didn't this shade of orange go out in the seventies? At least it'll match your shirt."

"Dude, I'm pretty sure that is the exact color of baby vomit."

"What the hell even is ecru?"

Finally Sam throws up his hands. "Oh for - Dean, you can pick the paint for your own house. Well, unless Cas has something to say about it. Leave me alone and go find him."

"Yeah, alright." Dean claps him on the back. "Make good choices, Sammy," he tosses over his shoulder, cracking up at his own humor. Sam rolls his eyes fondly at his brother's antics, and goes back to examining earth tones.

It takes Dean a few trips down different aisles before he finds Cas in the nursery section.

"Should have known I'd find you here," he remarks as he sidles up to him. "Communing with the greenery?"

Cas's face is warm and open as he looks at Dean. "I was thinking we should plant a garden once the house is built."

"Yeah, sure," Dean agrees. "It might be too late to plant much by then, but we could get it ready for next year. Were you thinking flowers or vegetables?"

"Both," Cas decides. "And maybe some window boxes for herbs. You can use them for your cooking."

"Oh, I see," Dean teases, "this is just a ploy to get me to cook for you."

"You enjoy cooking. And you enjoy that I enjoy your cooking."

"Touché."

They leave the store with several cans of paint, rollers, brushes, paint trays, and a small potted cactus.

"It gets hot in the trailer," Dean had shrugged as he handed it to Cas, "But I think we can at least keep this alive in there."

\----

They drag most of Sam's furniture in from various rooms of the bunker. The exception is a dilapidated but long plaid sofa that he had found at a yard sale and instantly fallen in love with. Before Dean knows it, he's all moved in, and then -

Sam gets a dog.

Of course he does.

"It's my house, Dean. I can have a dog in my own house," he reminds his brother as Dean eyes the thing dubiously from his spot on Sam's front porch. Cas is immediately taken with it and is playfully wrestling with it on the lawn while Dean fights the urge to tell him to be careful. Cas can take care of himself, he knows, but dogs still make Dean nervous, and this one is just so damn big.

"What the hell is it anyway?" he asks Sam, "I could have sworn the Cretaceous period was over."

"Funny," Sam replies dryly.

"I believe you are thinking of the Pleistocene epoch, Dean," a disheveled Cas corrects, as he approaches with the giant fluffy, white beast. Figures he was listening.

"He's a Kuvasz," Cas continues. ("Gesundheit," mutters Dean, ignored by Sam and Cas both). "And his name is Edison." Dean knows that. He's just not sure he's ready to dignify the monster dog with a name. "He's really quite friendly," Cas assures him. As if to confirm this, Eddie pants happily, a big doggy grin on his face as he looks at Cas with undisguised adoration. Dean has the uncomfortable sensation of wondering if that's how he looks at Cas when no one is looking. Hell, he's pretty sure he's halfway there right now, taking in his grass stains, rumpled t-shirt and even more rumpled hair, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiles, the strong hand buried in the thick fur of the dog's neck. Oh yeah, Dean thinks, he is so far gone.

So far gone, he thinks again as Cas urges him to hold out his fist for the dog to sniff, and he finds himself doing so without even knowing why. Edison sniffs perfunctorily at his hand, before lunging forward and licking a swath up Dean's bare arm. He sits back with a thump and pleased look. His tail hits the ground repeatedly as Dean fixes him with the evil eye.

"Your dog is a menace, Sam," he proclaims, scowling at his wet arm. "Eugh." He makes a grab at his brother to try to wipe the slobber off on him, but Sam dodges away, grabbing a tennis ball for Eddie, who lopes happily after him. Whirling on Cas, Dean catches a handful of his shirt and hauls him closer to scrub his arm on it. "See how you like it!" he grins as he releases him.

Cas shakes his head, eyes twinkling, as he plucks the now stretched shirt away from his chest to examine it. "You know you're going to get much dirtier digging the foundation, right?"

"Yeah, but that's, like, clean dirt," Dean protests. "Dogs are just gross." He stretches, cracking his back. "Ready to get to work?"

"Unbelievable," Cas mutters as they descend the porch steps, under his breath, but clearly meant for Dean to hear. There's a smile in there, too. Dean feels buoyant.

"Oh you'd better believe in me," he quips.

"Always," Cas answers, and the sincerity in his voice has Dean tripping over his own feet.

\----

Dean decides they're about due for a night out at Donnie's bar. Sam's been here with Dean before, but Cas never has.

Sam and Cas grab a table in the back, while Dean approaches the bar for the first round of drinks.

"Haven't seen you here in awhile," Donnie comments as he pours.

Dean shrugs. "I guess I haven't really felt the need to be drinking alone lately."

Donnie glances at their table. "Not tonight either, I see. Good to see your brother again." He nods his head towards Cas. "And I'm guessing that's your angel."

"What?" Dean's blood runs cold. "How did you- ?"

"Shit, calm down." Donnie frowns at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to hit a nerve. I kind of figured you were, y'know, out."

"Um," says Dean, realizing he's lost the thread of this conversation somewhere.

"You don't remember? You'd had a lot that night. Started rambling on about this guy, how he was your best friend, saved your life. You kept calling him an angel, seemed pretty far gone on him."

"Oh," Dean breathes, relieved, "That kind of angel."

"As opposed to a tree-topper?" Donnie laughs.

"Something like that," Dean agrees.

"Anyway, when I saw you come in here with that guy tonight, and saw the way you looked at him, I just assumed -"

"Well, you're not wrong. The guy's something else."

"So, congratulations are in order, then?"

Dean shakes his head, turning to look properly at Cas. "Not yet, man, but I think we'll get there." Cas catches his eyes on him and looks over with an awkward little grin and wave. Dean can feel his own cheeks stretch in a smile.

Behind him, Donnie coughs. "Yeah, you'll definitely get there."

"Hey, uh," Dean says, as he gathers up their glasses to take over to the table, "No hard feelings, are there, man?"

"Nah. We had a good time, but it was always a one time thing."

\----

"Hello, Dean." Cas gratefully accepts the frosty beer Dean hands him as he returns to the table, and the friendly arm he slings around his shoulder. "I didn't realize you were friends with the bartender."

"He's a good guy." Dean passes a bottle to his brother and takes a swig of his own, without releasing Cas. His arm is warm and heavy and Cas leans back against it. Sam catches his eye with a knowing smile. "Hey," Dean says, "I saw that look," but his arm merely tightens briefly around Cas. "We did good work today," he tells Sam. "Got the foundation finished. I'm thinking we'll take tomorrow off."

\----

A heatwave washes over the state. They've gotten used to working in the summer sun, but this is something else. They start in the early morning, and force themselves to work until noon, with Cas making Dean take frequent breaks for hydration. By the time they stop for lunch - cold sandwiches and colder beers - the sun has been blazing down on them for hours.

"Ugh," Dean complains, pressing a sweating bottle against the back of his neck. "Shit, that feels good. I can't work in this heat anymore. Seriously. I need a nap or something. Take a good siesta and pick this up when it cools down a bit."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Cas agrees.

Dean groans. "Problem is, if I get inside the bunker, I don't think I'll be able to talk myself back out again later."

"We could both use the trailer," Cas offers. "There's a fan, at least."

"Good enough for me." Dean downs the last of his beer, swiping a hand across his mouth. He wonders if he should feel awkward about bunking down with Cas, but somewhere along the way, this thing between them has lost its power to make him nervous. Instead, possibility hangs in the air like molasses, waiting, waiting and all the more sweet for it.

 _Soon_ , Dean promises himself as he follows Cas into the trailer. The cactus is blooming exuberantly on the foldaway table and it kicks Dean's heart up a notch. _Soon_ , he thinks again as he putters around closing up the sandwich supplies and stashing them in the tiny fridge, while Cas splashes cool water on his face, almost pressed up against Dean's side in order to reach the sink. Straightening, he pulls his shirt over his head to wipe the drops of water off his face, and Dean is totally staring, so riveted that even Cas can't miss it. It's hard to mind getting caught, when Cas just smiles, pleased and gummy, and reaches for the button on his jeans.

"Come to bed, Dean." Dean has never managed to get so tangled up in a shirt in his life.

They strip down to their boxer briefs and collapse on top of the sheets. The aluminum fan rattles in the tiny window, providing the barest of breezes over their sticky skin, and lulling them to sleep.

When Dean wakes, several hours later, it is still hot, though less so, and the angle of the sun has changed, slanting through the yellow curtains, painting the miles of Cas's skin on display a burnished gold. Dean's mouth goes dry; he can't tear his eyes away. He has, he realizes, never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

"Well, shit." he mumbles, to himself, overcome. Cas stirs. And Dean knows. He can feel it deep down into his bones, into the place where Cas once knitted him together, and he knows. This is the moment.

He moves slowly, inches closer.

"Cas," he whispers, breathing a cool stream of air on the nape of his neck. Cas's eyes flutter open, showing slivers of blue.

"Dean?" he croaks, still in that disbelieving space between sleep and wakefulness.

"Shhh." Dean leans in, closes the inches between them and presses a wet kiss to the top of Cas's spine, just below where his hair curls at the back of his neck. "This okay?"

"Mmm, Dean," Cas's response is a drawn out hum, and a languid stretch of his body, an obvious invitation to continue, and Dean trails kisses down the length of his spine, as Cas sighs beneath him.

"Cas," he murmurs helplessly against the warm skin. Cas turns beneath him, sits up, draws him into a smiling kiss. His woodworking callouses catch on Dean's stubble where he cups his jaw, and Dean's own work-roughened hands slide over sturdy shoulders, gripping tight, not in fear of Cas pulling away, but in wonder at him being here, real, solid, warm. Their mouths slide slickly together. He feels a laugh bubble up in his chest, and Cas's shoulders shake in response as Dean kisses behind his ear, across his jaw, down his throat. "Why did we wait so long?" he asks, rhetorically.

"Because we've never been so happy," Cas answers anyway. His hands trace circles on Dean's sides, across his chest, a thumb rubbing over Dean's nipple, startling a moan out of him. "It could never have been this good, before."

They kiss again, sliding against one another, their movements slow in deference to the heat. "Lay back," Dean urges, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Cas's underwear, and easing them down. He kisses his way back up those toned thighs. He licks a stripe up Cas's cock, earning a strangled noise.

Cas threads his fingers in Dean's hair and tugs sharply. Dean groans, but lets himself be pulled back to Cas's mouth. "No," Cas says, shoving down Dean's own underwear, "Like this."

They move together, bare skin pressed to bare skin, Cas's hand curling warm around Dean's cock and Dean returning the favour, marveling at the weight and velvetty firmness of Cas in his hand. Cas's eyes are wide open and so, so blue and Dean is drowning in them, drowning in Cas's gasps and moans, and in the noises he is making in return. All he can think, all he can feel is Cas, all around him, and he comes like that, his spare hand pressed to Cas's cheek, Cas's mouth sweet against his.

"Dean." Cas's voice breaks, and Dean pulls back just enough to watch Cas's face as he shudders all over and spills over Dean's hand.

"Fuckin' amazing, Cas." He rolls onto his back with a replete sigh, allowing Cas to take his hand, twine his fingers with his own, and there's no place he'd rather be. "You know I, uh..." He blushes.

Cas squeezed his fingers. "Yes, Dean, I know. You know I..."

"Yeah, man, I know." They're both smiling like loons.

\----

Despite having his own house now, Sam often eats in the bunker. His cooking is nothing on Dean's, and he knows it.

His bitchface over the breakfast table the next morning is epic. "Really, guys?" He demands, as he sits down, Edison flopping happily at his feet. "I got home from my shift last night, and all I could hear was the two of you in the trailer. Not that I'm not happy for you, but did you even try to keep it down?"

Dean's smile as he dishes out bacon onto three plates is unrepentant. "Hey, you know what they say. If the trailer's rocking..."

Sam wrinkles his nose. "You're so gross."

\----

Sometimes Dean thinks about what he's going to do once the house is done. He could apply at one of the few local businesses, he supposes, maybe the diner. At least short order cook is within his skill set. Maybe the local mechanic is hiring. He's not sure, though, how well he'd fit into a regular job, among civilians. Sure, he's managed, however uncomfortably, to hold down that construction gig, but that was several world-ending disasters ago, and however much he's learning to hold things together in this new life, he doesn't think he's gotten more skilled at playing normal. As they get further along, the deadline looms ever closer, and Dean doesn't like it one bit.

"I never thought I'd need to come up with a career path," he confides to Cas one night, as they lie curled around each other in the trailer's narrow bed, lazily smoothing his hand over Cas's ribs.

Cas takes his hand, presses a kiss to the palm. "I'm sure you'll succeed at anything you do, Dean. You'll think of something."

It's Sam who gives him the idea. It's raining, so Dean and Cas have forgone painting the exterior for the day, and they're waiting on the flooring they decided on to be ready before they do any more interior work. Cas has opted to stay in the trailer and read to the sound of raindrops drumming on the metal roof, but Dean had been feeling restless, so Cas had shooed him out with a kiss on the cheek, and Dean had found himself in the garage.

There's no work to be done on Baby or Cas's Continental, so Dean works for awhile on Sam's truck, until he's satisfied with his repairs and he's halfway through some routine maintenance on Dorothy's motorcycle, when Sam joins him, a pair of beers in hand. "Hey," he greets as Dean hauls himself up, wiping his grease-stained hands on a rag. Dean takes the offered beer with thanks, leaning back against the worktable where his tools are lined up.

"I did some work on your truck," he offers, when they've drained about half their bottles in silence. "Still ugly as sin, but she should run better."

"Thanks, man." Sam smiles.

"Couldn't let you keep driving a death trap."

"You ever think about getting the rest of these up and running?" Sam asks, gesturing at the garage full of classic cars.

"Not sure we need that many cars," Dean says, but not without casting a wistful glance at the vehicles, because, yeah, they're gorgeous, and he'd love for an excuse to get his hands on them, if that weren't time and money better spent.

"You could fix them up to sell," Sam suggests, and that's not a half-bad idea.

"Well," Dean shrugs, "At least it would give me more time to come up with a real job."

"Or," Sam finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle aside, "you could start a business. Get some good pictures, get Charlie to set you up with a website, start taking commissions."

"Huh," Dean says. He drains his beer, thinking it over. "Huh," he says again. "That just might work."

\----

Cas is standing in the bathtub, installing the new showerhead - it has eight settings, something Dean and Cas had both deemed a necessity - when he feels strong arms wrap around his waist.

"Hello, Dean." He gives the showerhead one last twist to tighten it, before relaxing back into the embrace. "How's the kitchen coming?"

"All finished." Dean nuzzles into the crook of his neck. "It looks awesome in here." The new fixtures gleam softly against the warm wood of the walls, and the green tiles around the tub give the room a soothing quality. He nips gently at the skin of Cas's throat. "Want to test it out? Make sure the water pressure's up to snuff?"

Cas turns to look at him and Dean waggles his eyebrows. Cas shakes his head with a huff, a smile teasing at his lips. "Good water pressure is very important, Dean," he informs him solemnly.

"All the more reason to test it out." Dean grins, and before Cas can react, he reaches around him to turn the water on, drenching them both. Soaked and still fully clothed, Cas gapes at him for a moment, water running into his eyelashes, before he lets himself be tugged into a heated kiss.

They end up making love under the shower spray, soaking the whole bathroom in the process.

"Guess we should have hung a shower curtain first, huh?" Dean comments, as they make the trek to the bunker in their wet clothes to gather towels to clean up their mess.

"Yes," Cas agrees, "but the water pressure _was_ fantastic."

\----

In the morning, they begin to dig a garden.


End file.
